“I’m used to it,” he said, because he, too, was aware of the elements of her past she couldn’t hide. “Sedarias trusts you. I mean, she trusts your intentions. And she’s used to people whose intentions she trusts who still manage to break things.” He referred to Terrano. “We don’t pretend, when we speak to each other. We can’t. We’re ourselves—whatever that is. Doesn’t matter if you know it. Doesn’t matter if you don’t. Sedarias had the worst childhood—if you can call it that. Annarion had the best. But there are shades in between.
“We know that information can be death—ours, someone else’s. We’ve practically lived twelve lives, or at least the early parts. But home, for us, is each other, no matter where we happen to be.”
“Except for Terrano.”
He exhaled heavily. “Except for Terrano. She misses him,” he added, and Kaylin knew he was speaking of Sedarias.
Evarrim had lost another ruby; his tiara now housed a blackened, cracked gem. He was burned, but not bleeding, and he would not allow Kaylin within five feet of him. His eyes remained a martial blue—but she couldn’t immediately recall them being any other color. Because the Consort did not appear distressed by the outcome, he did not immediately accuse her of negligence or incompetence.
Any sign of the Ferals that had functioned as power conduits was gone. The room itself was no longer a cavern; it was a room worthy of the most important people the High Halls contained. There was a hint of sunlight that lightened the height of the ceiling, revealing it at last. It seemed, to Kaylin’s eye, to be sky.
There was no blood on the floor; blood remained on clothing and skin. It was theirs, the Tower’s actions implied.
“What happened to the other Arcanists?”
“They are in holding cells,” the Consort replied, although she hadn’t asked it of the Consort, who, while green-eyed, had started to sag in a way that implied she felt as exhausted as Kaylin.
“The High Halls will not be the High Halls we have known. One or two of the oldest of the lords might remember what they will become.” She closed her eyes. “I owe you a debt, Lord Kaylin.”
“No.”
The Consort smiled, although she didn’t open her eyes. “You are afraid, perhaps, that I, like the rest of my kin, consider obligation a terrible burden. Were you someone else, perhaps I would. But I understand that you would have done this, regardless. I understand some of what you have done, in a space the rest of us could not touch or perceive.
“I should not speak of it; what is spoken aloud is remembered, and not always in a fashion that is to the speaker’s advantage. But you did not hear the Tower’s voice, in those final moments—and, Kaylin, I did.”
“What did it say?”
“It was wordless,” the Consort replied. “In any other individual, it might be considered a scream. But there was joy in it, and I can still feel the reverberations. The Tower has been isolated for too long. And in the Adversary—or whatever he might style himself to be in the future—he has found someone who can hear his voice. They are both old. I do not know how old; I could not clearly hear the Tower’s voice, and could not ask. But even the Hallionne have little regard for the passage of time as we mark it.” She turned to Lord Evarrim. “It is time we return,” she told him. “I would be upon my throne when the cohort emerges.”
“How exactly do we emerge?” Mandoran asked in Elantran. Teela rolled her eyes.
“I am not entirely certain,” the Consort replied. “This is...not what it has been for the entirety of my life.” She glanced up. “But I am certain there is a way out. More certain today than ever.”
“And what happens,” Sedarias said in much more modulated High Barrani, “to the Test of Name? It exists, and has existed, for a reason.”
“That is a subject that will be discussed by the Lords of the Court, but I believe it will change only in one regard: failure will not result in death. Not at the hands of anything but our own kind.”
The cohort and Tain remained in the grand and glorious hall that had replaced rough-hewn cavern. The rest of the occupants followed the Consort, with the exception of Nightshade. “I found a way in,” he said, a hint of amusement in the words. “I feel it safest to likewise find a way out. The Tower and its test has, until today, held no fear for me; the High Court and its environs is, by its own choice, more deadly.”
The Consort bowed to him. She held that bow. Kaylin wondered—as she so often did—about the history between the two.
“I have not seen you wieldMeliannosfor many a year; it has been long since we have stood on the same battlefield.”
“And triumphed, yes.” The fieflord’s eyes were almost green, which was as green as they ever got. “This would not have been my choice of meeting place, but I believe the outcome has long been your desire.” He glanced at Kaylin, and then, to Kaylin’s surprise, he tendered her the bow he might have offered the Consort. “You have exceeded not expectation, but hope, Lord Kaylin.”
And my brother has returned, materially unharmed.
But not unchanged?
Life, as my brother has discovered to his dismay, changes all of us in one way or another. I did not wish him to take this test.
I didn’t, either, if we’re being honest.
The Consort did. And we bow, as we must, to the Lady’s will. But this...this, neither of us expected. My brother is home, and he is alive. What he will make of that life, I do not know—but I intend to survive to watch, even in the lee ofRavellon. I, too, owe you a great debt.She heard only truth in the words. But she understood, now, that she had been the wild card of his plans and his hopes, that he had been looking toward the West March for far, far longer than she had been alive.
Yes. My brother’s anger at your treatment at my hands is bitter; it stings. But I cannot completely regret it.
There were other ways to ask, she told him, just a hint of exasperation coloring the words.But at the moment, I can’t, either. I think... I think Teela was happy to see you. Which would be a first.
